This Mortal Coil
by fuzzybluelogic
Summary: Blade failed and La Magra was released, not as a god, but as a virus. Scott Summers leads the new Vampire race, while Kurt Wagner and Jean Grey lead the surviving XMen in the fight for mankind's survival. Chapters 2 and 3 beta'd and reposted
1. Chapter 1

The city lights were beautiful.

He stood on the edge of the building, not feeling the cold...only feeling the wind that whipped through his hair and fluttered his silk shirt flat against his lean frame.

New York City sparkled beneath him, twinkling like Christmas lights in colors he hadn't seen since he was fifteen. In a few hours, his kind would scurry off to their dark corners like roaches, but he'd stay and watch the sunrise.

There was a certain irony in this.

It took Changing for him to appreciate the colors and beauty of a sunrise.

He ran the tip of his tongue over the sharp points of his receded fangs, savoring the shiver of it.

How long had it been?

Five years?

Not long enough to remember what it felt like to be trapped in dying flesh. Not long enough to forget _her_.

He'd come for her, but she'd fled with the others. What was left of them. Most had been brought over, or killed outright, it was better that way. A kindness. He disliked the term "pets" but it was a pampered, elite existence for those born superior.

And _this_ was just the next step in that evolution.

He'd find her.

She was above all of them, even the other mutants, and not just because he remembered her taste, the feel of her silken skin sweat beneath him, and the shadow of that hormonal imbalance that the cattle call 'love'.

No, she was important to _all_ of them.

And one other, but he'd let Bobby deal with him.

Fucking teleporters.

Telekinetics were not exactly a walk in the park to deal with, as Drake so helpfully pointed out.

But Eric was working on something, something that would tame that little inconvenience. Jean and Kurt had proved immune to all the usual 'gentling' of powers until they could be brought over, or introduced into Society as Companions.

Sometimes even the genetically superior had problems with their own evolution and had to be trained.

They were calling themselves something different these days, having abandoned the perfectly adorable "Marvel Girl" and rather unfortunate "Nightcrawler" in their misguided quest to be mankind's saviors.

But they'd come around.

The two of them, princes among new nobility -- after they did some cleaning house of the dreck that was fouling up the race after Deacon Frost's fortunate misunderstanding of an old prophecy had released the magic that destroyed both Deacon _and_ Blade.

Deacon was a prick, but his sacrifice was much appreciated.

Who'd have thought that The Blood God was a retro-virus?

And was waterborne.

It had spread over the earth, raining blood. Some were changed by the Blood Rain, some by the frenzy that swept through the vampire race.

Bobby was the first to change...to evolve, as the plague raged across the globe.

And then it was over.

But it had just begun.

They had a Revolution.

And now the homo-inferior race was the one that lived in fear. But the Kindred were kind shepherds to their flocks, and the world knew an order and peace it hadn't ever experienced. It was Utopia.

Look, the city thrived. The cattle were content. No one suffered. Crime was practically unheard of among the humans. And disease and pain was brought to a merciful end...no lingering on machines waiting for release into the arms of a god that very few thought of anymore.

There were new Gods now.

Well, two, at least. He didn't know why the old writings implied that it was Jean and Kurt, but Ramsey had insisted that his translations were the correct ones. For reasons still unknown, Jean Grey and Kurt Wagner were to join himself and Bobby as leaders among this new race.

It was an incomplete pantheon.

But once the missing two were brought over, the world would know true Peace and Order.

He worried that his hard won gift for Eric would delay the man's work, but he'd never been good at waiting on giving presents. And Rogue's condition would prove an interesting puzzle to Magneto, how to Bring Over someone with her particular powers.

And the man had shown more than an academic interest in their little Mississippi mud-rat.

Too bad that the Cajun had slipped away, though his infamous nonchalance had been broken when they'd taken Rogue, reports said that he'd screamed her name before killing several good soldiers. But Scott wasn't angry at Remy. Gambit just didn't understand yet, but he would.

Very soon.

Ororo had set out herself to claim her Arcadian prize...hopefully before the thief could make it back to wherever their little band of Merry Mutants had holed up...last he heard it was under the protection of the Were. Shame that. He almost missed Hank, but his bitch girlfriend's invoking of old tribal magicks had caused a sudden population explosion among the Were. Dani Moonstar needed to be put down like a feral dog. What a brilliant man like Hank saw in her, he'd never know. And he'd never forgive her for what her magic fumblings did to someone who was once one of his closest friends.

"Scott!" 

Raising an eyebrow, Scott Summers turned around.

"Kitty." He said warmly, stepping down from the ledge and laying a cool hand to her bruised cheek. She struggled -- crying with anger and perhaps a little fear -- held between two vampire soldiers, the nanites already working their little miracle on her powers. He frowned at her bruises. "Who did this?"

"Sir, we had to use reasonable force to subdue her, even after Mr. Drake forced her solid, she was armed." The soldier who gripped Kitty left arm gestured toward his healing wound that look like a sword thrust. 

Bobby. He probably wandered by, waggled his fingers to unphase Shadowcat, and then went on his merry way without so much as a backward glance.

"So you beat her up, marked her face? A noble Companion?" Scott leveled his blue eyes at the soldier. "That's completely outside protocol."

Moving faster than Kitty's eyes could track, Scott was behind the soldier, fangs extended and buried in the lesser vampire's throat.

"Oh, god..." Kitty recoiled in horror as the former leader of the X-Men dropped the man, who crumbled into ash before his body could hit the tar of the roof.

"Shh, don't worry." Scott patted her shoulder, licking the single droplet of stray blood from his lip, "We're family. Welcome home, Kitty." 


	2. Chapter 2

_Just don't think 'bout it, put it outta your mind. You ain't gonna do no one no good if you caught..._

_Don't think 'bout that look in her eyes as she hollered at you to git._

_Don't think._

_Just_ _run_.

He struggled to keep breathing as he jumped, coat fanning out behind him as he cleared the space between the two rooftops. He had to keep moving. And he couldn't use the sewers no more-- no sewers, no subway tunnels, not even the woods. If the sun didn't touch it, he couldn't go there.

_Heart o' stone...heart o' stone..._

He couldn't allow himself to feel right then. Couldn't let himself think on that he'd been forced to leave Rogue, knowin' what could become of her-- knowin' that next time he saw her she'd be a face with a demon lookin' out them green eyes.

And he especially couldn't think on who was chasing him.

Both of 'em lost now.

It started raining as the thick black clouds rolled in. He could feel Stormy in that cold wind. She was toying with him like a cat who caught herself a mouse. The rules had all changed. Was a time when a mutant who got turned into one of _them_ didn't keep their powers. But now this new kind of monster-- the ones with powers-- they was just twisted version of the mutants they used to be, including their powers.

He dove over the side of the building, charging the end of his staff for a little extra boost as he bounced from wall to wall, finally running across a cable to land on a pizza parlor.

No use tryin' to fight one on one, and not...

Not _Stormy_.

Lord, he couldn't face her

Too much.

It was just too much.

Gambit reached the ground. The rain soaking him to the bone as he huddled against a dumpster trying to catch his breath. He'd sent the call for help well before it happened but had no idea if it got through. He longed for a smoke to steady his shaking hands. Longed for the taste-- the rush. It would have to wait. He could see in the sky that Stormy weren't too far behind.

_I ain't gonna make it._

He cursed himself for even thinking that. He had to make it. Had to make it until _Bleu_ came and fetched him. Rogue deserved that much.

Remy scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to catch his second wind. Or fifth wind. It'd been two days since he had any sleep, and ...and it was eatin' him alive, knowin' what he had to do. To leave Rogue there. With Summers.

Because he weren't Cyclops. Not anymore.

Maybe... maybe Rogue's power would make it impossible for them to infect her.

Maybe. _Hopefully. _

He squeezed the collection of symbols that hung from leather strapping from his neck: a _gris-gris_, a crucifix, and anything else he could think of or get his hands on. Weren't nothing like _this_ new world – Hell on Earth -- to reaffirm a body's faith in the Here After.

No time to mourn, not now.

Had to run.

Had to get back. Report in.

"I am jus' too damn _old_ for this..." Remy sank into a crouch, before letting out a healthy stream of profanity in patois as he turned on his boot heels and slammed his fist into the side of the dumpster. Then again and again... until his knuckles dripped blood, and he was wide eyed and gasping.

Shadows moved. Shadows moved in away they shouldn't.

_Aw, hell._

He dug his bleeding hand into his coat pocket, spreading the cards between his torn knuckles as he pulled them out, pushing himself up in one fluid motion. "Olly, Olly Oxen free," he called, forcing that casual grin to his face. "Ya'll wantin' to be havin' a bit a fun? I'm game. Gambit _always_ game."

"I enjoy games, Remy," a voice like silk charged with electricity seem to come from everywhere at once. "But there's no need for old friends to fight. I've missed you."

_Heart o' stone...don't feel nothin'..._

More than one shadow was movin'. She'd brought soldiers.

"Well, I am flattered, Stormy." Gambit said, really wishing for that cigarette now. "You brought all these folks out here jus' to fetch little ol' _me_."

"I've known you too long to underestimate you, my friend."

He couldn't see her-- couldn't see nothin'. He _just_ caught movement out the corner of his eyes.

"Any chance we can be reasonable? For ol' times sake?" he kept talking, eyes scanning the alley as he tried to focus in on anything...any_one_.

People used to say he had the Devil's own luck.

It seemed the Devil changed his mind about that as the first blow caught him in the gut, sending him slamming against the brick. Gambit caught his weight with his foot and kicked off the wall, flipping over his attacker – some black armored vampire drone – and landed hard. Flicking his wrist at the same time, he sent a spray of glowing playing cards toward the bloodsucker. The sucker was fast, but not fast enough. Three of the cards caught the thing in the face-mask...

The blast took its head clean off, and Gambit ducked to avoid the hot foul smelling ash as the vampire disintegrated. But his victory was short lived-- he could see at least a half-dozen of the monsters. And then, from the darkness above, came what was left of Ororo Munroe-- his Stormy-- looking as regal as he ever remembered.

BAMF!

Gambit didn't even have time to react before arms wrapped around him and -- BAMF!

They were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

They reappeared miles away-- at least six jumps worth and enough to leave Storm and her blood soldiers far behind. It was also enough to have Gambit retching as Kurt watched, his hand splayed on the Cajun's back. Nightcrawler appeared to ignore his own pain – 'porting hurt him as much as it did his passengers, especially after that kind if distance -- and studied what splattered on the grass.

No blood.

Good. That was one sign that he'd hadn't ingested any of their infected blood, and probably why Nightcrawler had opted to go for the hard and fast teleport; to weaken him and make him empty his guts. But he knew that the whole process was far from finished.

Kurt gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. He shoved Remy against a tree, gripping his chin with one hand as his tail snaked over his shoulder, the spade gripping a small bottle. Biting the cork out of the tiny flask of holy water, he squeezed Remy cheeks to force his lips apart. "Drink," he commanded.

Gambit – sick and dazed – did as he was bid, nearly choking on the stale tasting water Nightcrawler filled his mouth with. Miraculously he managed to swallow...and even more miraculously not immediately throw it up again. Then he was roughly stripped, a crucifix pressed firmly against his cheek throughout. His only thought -- beyond the pain and the anguish of both losing Rogue and seeing the demon that Stormy had become -- was that this would be a mite more difficult if Nightcrawler didn't have himself a tail.

Kurt went over Remy's body; clinically examining his throat, his thighs, his wrists, even his most intimate of places-- all the favorite hiding places of vampire feeding points.

"I ain't been bit." Remy coughed but knew that it didn't matter what he said. This here was standard protocol. He tried to convince himself that Kurt was being so rough because it was necessary, not because he knew that Gambit had failed. Or that the failure had cost Rogue her life...and her soul.

"Open." Nightcrawler held up a Eucharist and Remy complied. It tasted like cardboard and nothing as it melted on his tongue. "Okay, we're done." Finally, it was his friend who spoke to him, his harsh accent softening, instead of a soldier mechanically inspecting a potential threat.

Gambit was too tired – of body or spirit – to offer any resistance or complaint as Kurt carefully helped him redress. "Where we be?" he asked instead. It looked like some lightly wooded field. And Remy wanted to have something normal to say. He slid down the tree, sitting on his heels and staring at the darkening sky.

"Upstate." Kurt let a smile touch the corner of his mouth. "Here. I have a treat for you. Don't tell Jean." He held out a small cigarette case and popped it open. Seeing at how badly Remy's hand were shaking, he lit it himself and blew out a small swirling plume of blue smoke before holding the expensive cigarette to Remy's lips.

Gambit blinked, feeling worse at the small kindness, but took a deep drag anyway. He closed his eyes as the nicotine and smoke worked its magic, dulling the razor's edge just a little bit. He closed his fingers around it and exhaled, casting his red-on-black eyes downward, studying the way the first ash fell. "She gone. They'd tracked us and had us cornered...shot her down with some kinda of electrified net, took away her powers. There was jus' too many...too many."

"I know," Kurt said softly, sinking into a crouch and resting an arm around the man's shoulders. "You did what you could; the only thing you could. You stayed alive. If you had done anything else we'd be mourning you, too...and fearing what you'd become."

What Kurt didn't tell him-- because he'd find out soon enough and it would only make things worse after the ordeal he'd suffered-- was that Kitty was missing. He'd spent night before in their makeshift chapel on his knees before lit candles and the cross, begging God to spare her. To end this. To show him a way to fix this. To save those who'd been infected.

Anything.

He couldn't afford a crisis of faith right now.

The fact that the vampires _did_ react to holy items gave him some hope that God really was still there. Right now, that was all he had. But it was enough. It would have to be. Even his sorceress mother and sister believed in God and that magic was part of His design.

So, to his faith he clung.

Even when the Soul Sword appeared to him and broke his heart. A piece of Illyana's soul that had become a tangible thing-- a weapon of enormous power. It had passed to Kitty upon the girl's death, and now...

Now, he could feel it burning inside him. Every second. Every moment.

But the darkness of the blade's influence was nothing to how he'd felt since humanity had fallen to this plague. He knew a secret, whispered to him by the mother who raised him when he'd gone to her for help, and reaffirmed by the mother who'd flung him as an infant to his death: he wasn't entirely human. And perhaps it was that strange bloodmix of mutant and _other_ that offered him some protection against _them_.

And against the Soul Sword.

It offered him a second scrap of peace. Why would there be a need for a devil or his demons if there was no God? One proved the existence of the other.

And by Christ Jesus, he would find a cure.

Even if it cost him his soul.

If he even had one.

"I'm ready." Gambit straightened and crushed the spent butt into the heel of his boot. Kurt nodded and slipped the case into the Cajun's pocket. He was gentle this time, teleporting carefully, allowing Remy time to recover between jumps. It took two hours and as many cigarettes, before they were in the wood that belonged to the Were. He could feel them watching. If Kurt had found him infected, he would have teleported away, and the Were would have finished it.

It wouldn't have been a pleasant way to go.

"I want you to see Hank," Kurt said as the final smoke of his last teleport cleared. "And Remy?"

Gambit turned back, brow raised questioningly.

"Don't give up on Rogue..._or_ Storm just yet." He pressed his hand over his heart, where the sword stung the sharpest. "It's a virus, it can be cured."

Gambit just shook his head, confused and exhausted. "I'm gonna go see Henri...maybe you should, too, did you hit your head or somethin'?" Kurt just patted his arm and headed toward his tent, leaving Remy shaking his head. "Least I ain't the only one who's losing his damn mind over all this."

* * *

Jean yelped as the socket wrench slipped, skinning her knuckles for about the third time. _Godammit!_ She kicked at the chassis of the jeep in frustration.

"Why don't you just use your telekinesis?"

"Shut up, Emma." Jean muttered, glaring at the legs near her head.

"I'm just trying to help," Emma said coolly, amusement only barely held in check. "It seems a waste of energy to continued to ...do whatever it is you're doing instead of using your perfectly capable power."

Why was it no matter how nicely Emma Frost worded something, it sounded like a damn insult?

"You're welcome to come down here and offer your expertise, Emma." Jean snapped and sucked at her injured knuckle. To her surprise – and irritation – Emma slid beneath the jeep next to her instead of wandering off to annoy someone else.

"Alternator?" the once and probably future White Queen asked, peering up into the mass of wiring and and grease.

"Yeeeah," Jean drawled, unsure of Emma's motivation. Surely she didn't really expect to _help_...did she? Wasn't her only purpose to trot around in her lingerie and be a big bottle blonde asshole?

"If you think _this_ is lingerie," Emma gestured at her jeans and long sleeved tee-shirt, "I shudder to think what you think is proper. Prairie dresses and denim jumpers, perhaps? A little _Big Love_, don't you think?"

"Get out of my head."

"Of course, darling...I can understand how that can be disconcerting that can be now that you are bereft of your own telepathy." Emma's smile was as sweet as cotton candy and just about as substantial.

Jean sighed. She didn't feel like arguing with her. Not now. Not after what had happened. And she didn't care one damn bit that she'd lost her telepathy.

Well, maybe a _tiny_ bit.

"Kitty's missing. Rogue's been taken. Could you pretend to have a heart for five seconds," Jean said flatly, forcing the bolt free using her TK. It wasn't as satisfying as using her hand and the wrench, but it was necessary.

Emma was silent for a few minutes. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, now you do." Jean yanked on the old alternator that was wedged firmly in place. A slim translucent hand slid up and pulled the part loose. Jean turned her head, Emma had taken her diamond form, her face was noticeable lacking its superior smirk. Jean instantly felt bad. Emma knew loss-- her first students had met a brutal end. And she'd been headmistress at the Mass Academy long enough to develop loyalty with several of the students there. God, why was she being such a bitch to Emma? Because _that's_ what everyone needed, more tension? "Thanks," she added awkwardly.

"The connections are corroded, they'll need to be replaced before you put the new alternator in," was all Emma said by way of reply before sliding out and leaving Jean alone.

Great. _Now_ who was the asshole?

_Fuck._

* * *

Scott Summers leaned back in his chair and scanned over Ororo's report. Ah, well. It would have been nice to bring the Cajun into their fold, but they had time. He was only mildly frustrated at the near miss of Nightcrawler. But, really, could fledgling vampires even hope to compete with one of the Chosen? Kurt Wagner would find his place among them.

As would Jean Grey.

Kitty Pryde was sleeping. He'd brought her over himself, giving Shinobi Shaw guardianship over her. Their powers were similar, perhaps they could learn from each other. He'd wanted her to be trained as a Companion first, but her temperament was such that instant conversion was necessary. And he'd learned _so_ much from her, once she'd been re-baptized with his blood. So many secrets

Rogue, on the other had, posed a different problem, Eric had staked his claim on the beautiful Southern girl, so he left her conversion in the capable hands of the man who once called himself Magneto. But if anyone could find a way through her poison skin and invulnerability, it would be Eric Lensherr. Their power inhibitors had limited effect, and Rogue had over-ridden hers twice since her capture, forcing them to store her in a specially created force cage. Magneto liked his challenges.

Shadowcat and Rogue were great prizes. He was sure they would flush Nightcrawler out. His best friend and his foster sister had been taken into their family and, knowing what he did of the man, he wouldn't sit idly by. He'd make a rescue attempt. As would the Cajun.

Maybe even another one of Scott's pet projects: Wolverine.

Logan has managed to remain firmly below the radar, despite Scott's efforts to hunt him down. And he hadn't been the only one trying to flush him out of hiding.

Gambit and Rogue had been looking for Wolverine as well, following the same leads as Scott and his teams. When their paths crossed, it had been a happy coincidence -- he'd been delighted to bring Rogue home-- to her rightful place among the truly evolved. And, while he'd never really cared much for Remy LeBeau, the man would assuredly be an asset once brought over. It was a shame that he'd slipped from Storm's grasp but that was the challenge when the other side had a teleporter.

Speaking of the teleporter, Bobby had asked for him, which had surprised Scott, considering Drake lack of interest in the prophecies or anything but indulging his own newly awakened sadism. But who was he to deny his brother's only request? Nightcrawler would be reserved for the one who once called himself Iceman.

As long as he understood that he was not to _break_ Kurt.

Bobby could collect a little harem of exotic playthings to his still heart's content once Wagner was brought over. Beaubier _had_ been his first conversion, but it had gone badly. Northstar retained all of his humanity and fled, much to Scott's astonishment, but there were rumors that Jean-Paul had some sort of magical bloodline. Bobby, however, seemed unaffected by the loss of his progeny. Regardless, Scott reminded him that his only real concern should be Nightcrawler.

Iceman had just smiled and walked out of the room. Scott could only imagine what he was thinking-- maybe he found that an exciting challenge. Bobby had become the strangest and cruelest of all of his converted family, so he didn't give it anymore thought. If he wanted Kurt Wagner, he could have him. That was his right as one of the Four Chosen. Just as Scott would take Jean.

It was what was supposed to be.


End file.
